Oh Portland...
Portland, you're old! Almost 400 years old.
You've seen a lot. You've been married to a couple of states and have stuck around with the latest one for a good while. Once a Masshole, you turned into a Mainer, the only one syllable state in the union! Once the capitol of the state, you conceded the capitol's move north to a more central location gracefully and didn't worry that much. You didn't need such a title! After all, you're the Forest City, not a Capitol City! You have far more going for you than politicians (thankfully)!
Your early settlements and villages were built and destroyed repeatedly by different foes. In 1866 you nearly burned yourself to the ground with the awesome July 4th party you threw! At least we know that alcohol had no part in that, what with you banning alcohol in the 1850's and keeping those laws in various form until the joyous day of the 21st amendment. Neal Dow laid down the framework of national prohibition, keeping up with the state's motto of Dirigo. But Portland, oh Portland, despite all of that, you kept true to your local motto - Resurgam! I will rise again. It's a wonder that we haven't attracted a pharmaceutical manufacturer for making little blue pills with that kind of motto.
You're one of those really quirky cities, built early enough that "roads" are a relative term. Winding, ridiculous intersections, insane infrastructure that's liable to break any time anywhere and remain broken for months at a time (see the intersections of Pleasant and Center St for a present day example).
While you have some of the characteristics of an old New England codger, not accepting people into your "locals" club formally, you'll open your arms and heart to someone who really loves you and welcome them home warmly when they return from away. Of course, you'll shake their car to pieces on the northern part of Fore St or Kennebec Street, but that's just the kind of hug you offer. Those same cobblestones that will shake apart the car will also entertain us as we watch the fancier dressed ladies daintily trying to walk down Wharf St from one hip club to the next on a warm summer night.
Portland, you do welcome people in and you don't really care if they're black, white, tan or purple; straight or gay or some other identity. You really are pretty open that way. You DO care that everyone puts in a good days work makes some contribution, but other than that, you're not so worried about who they're lying in bed with. And yes, you are a bit of a jerk sometimes when it comes to English speaking or not for some of your immigrants, but the Franco-Americans among you remind you enough that you need to suck it up and not be a jerk.
And you certainly accept the eccentric. Your arts community booms and you have more potters than you can shake a clay stained stick at. Your creative economy is vast, particularly if you include the chefs and bartenders. You find yourself in the top 10 and 20 lists for all the food magazines, though some of the locals wonder why people fawn over your French Fries and other seemingly normal fare.
Your breweries are world renowned and you bring hundreds to wait in line for hours to pay $8/bottle for a beer. Your distilleries are also gaining ground and adding to the local flavor. Neal Dow is certainly long dead, not forgotten, but nobody would dare say he has sway in this town any longer.
You bring in thousands to visit you and thrive on the visitation. You are growing and bursting at the seams with your housing market, but you remain weird, odd and fun. Closing down a street during art walk doesn't take a permit, people simply see that the road is full of xylophones and they move onto other routes.
And yet Portland, with all this joy and fun and play, you work. Damn it, do you work. You have ships in and out all day. Your offices fill in the morning and empty in the evening, plugging up all the roads leading to you. And yet, while it may take a few minutes to leave you or filter our ways through you, those highways near you run fast and well until the fender benders happen.
But yes, you work Portland. In offices, boats, restaurants, shops, galleries, studios, classrooms, maintenance shops and private quiet offices, you work. You provide goods and services all day long, and in some cases all night long. But then when the office elevators stand quiet, your streets light up and restaurant and bar doors fly open wide, beckoning to those same office people and their friends to come in, relax and enjoy your warm embrace. And when they enjoy too much and take a cab home, you let them wait until 9 am to pick up their car the next morning.
Portland, you're a wide open town for being surrounded by so much water. But we fly in, drive in, take a ferry in, all the time. And we may leave, because you're kind of small and don't have everything in you, but we always come back. And we stumble as we walk on and off your curbs of greatly varied heights, but we still walk through you, strolling at times, rushing in the colder months.
You're a pretty fine dame, Portland, Maine. Keep it up, you're on a good path. I'm not sure where you need to "rise again", but I'm damn glad you already have several times before I got to know you.
You've seen a lot. You've been married to a couple of states and have stuck around with the latest one for a good while. Once a Masshole, you turned into a Mainer, the only one syllable state in the union! Once the capitol of the state, you conceded the capitol's move north to a more central location gracefully and didn't worry that much. You didn't need such a title! After all, you're the Forest City, not a Capitol City! You have far more going for you than politicians (thankfully)!
Your early settlements and villages were built and destroyed repeatedly by different foes. In 1866 you nearly burned yourself to the ground with the awesome July 4th party you threw! At least we know that alcohol had no part in that, what with you banning alcohol in the 1850's and keeping those laws in various form until the joyous day of the 21st amendment. Neal Dow laid down the framework of national prohibition, keeping up with the state's motto of Dirigo. But Portland, oh Portland, despite all of that, you kept true to your local motto - Resurgam! I will rise again. It's a wonder that we haven't attracted a pharmaceutical manufacturer for making little blue pills with that kind of motto.
You're one of those really quirky cities, built early enough that "roads" are a relative term. Winding, ridiculous intersections, insane infrastructure that's liable to break any time anywhere and remain broken for months at a time (see the intersections of Pleasant and Center St for a present day example).
While you have some of the characteristics of an old New England codger, not accepting people into your "locals" club formally, you'll open your arms and heart to someone who really loves you and welcome them home warmly when they return from away. Of course, you'll shake their car to pieces on the northern part of Fore St or Kennebec Street, but that's just the kind of hug you offer. Those same cobblestones that will shake apart the car will also entertain us as we watch the fancier dressed ladies daintily trying to walk down Wharf St from one hip club to the next on a warm summer night.
Portland, you do welcome people in and you don't really care if they're black, white, tan or purple; straight or gay or some other identity. You really are pretty open that way. You DO care that everyone puts in a good days work makes some contribution, but other than that, you're not so worried about who they're lying in bed with. And yes, you are a bit of a jerk sometimes when it comes to English speaking or not for some of your immigrants, but the Franco-Americans among you remind you enough that you need to suck it up and not be a jerk.
And you certainly accept the eccentric. Your arts community booms and you have more potters than you can shake a clay stained stick at. Your creative economy is vast, particularly if you include the chefs and bartenders. You find yourself in the top 10 and 20 lists for all the food magazines, though some of the locals wonder why people fawn over your French Fries and other seemingly normal fare.
Your breweries are world renowned and you bring hundreds to wait in line for hours to pay $8/bottle for a beer. Your distilleries are also gaining ground and adding to the local flavor. Neal Dow is certainly long dead, not forgotten, but nobody would dare say he has sway in this town any longer.
You bring in thousands to visit you and thrive on the visitation. You are growing and bursting at the seams with your housing market, but you remain weird, odd and fun. Closing down a street during art walk doesn't take a permit, people simply see that the road is full of xylophones and they move onto other routes.
And yet Portland, with all this joy and fun and play, you work. Damn it, do you work. You have ships in and out all day. Your offices fill in the morning and empty in the evening, plugging up all the roads leading to you. And yet, while it may take a few minutes to leave you or filter our ways through you, those highways near you run fast and well until the fender benders happen.
But yes, you work Portland. In offices, boats, restaurants, shops, galleries, studios, classrooms, maintenance shops and private quiet offices, you work. You provide goods and services all day long, and in some cases all night long. But then when the office elevators stand quiet, your streets light up and restaurant and bar doors fly open wide, beckoning to those same office people and their friends to come in, relax and enjoy your warm embrace. And when they enjoy too much and take a cab home, you let them wait until 9 am to pick up their car the next morning.
Portland, you're a wide open town for being surrounded by so much water. But we fly in, drive in, take a ferry in, all the time. And we may leave, because you're kind of small and don't have everything in you, but we always come back. And we stumble as we walk on and off your curbs of greatly varied heights, but we still walk through you, strolling at times, rushing in the colder months.
You're a pretty fine dame, Portland, Maine. Keep it up, you're on a good path. I'm not sure where you need to "rise again", but I'm damn glad you already have several times before I got to know you.